Diary of a pig: June 3

In which Earnest the pig continues to write in his musings in his journal

June 3, 2016 Maine

I live much as I did, wallowing in dust after mad baths, waiting for a breeze to blow off flies and in the inner peace that I am always fed and watered.

The children are growing. They are right in the paddock beside me, with their mother and the tall elegant white lady who smiles a lot. I like her, she is somewhat odd in her movements but much like a giraffe I saw on National Geographic when someone copped that old TV out of the old barn. That was a great night for all of us.

We had rain yesterday, a torrent really, unheard of back at our old homestead. It left the paddock nearby flooded, but I slept through most of it. The rain here comes through the summer I'm told. This will be a treat.

As usual I think about love making some, with Eleanor right next door. We are set up nicely though, we are the right height to visit with noses and eyes and heads. But they secured it so I can't get to her. This is both comforting and exhausting. We don't need more children right now, they are the consequence of seconds of my release. But it's nice knowing she is there. Living amongst other species is fine, but as a pig, I feel at one with another pig.

It might appear nothing much happens in my journal. But I have yet to uncover percolations that were brought to the surface, briefly, as we travelled. And there are different sounds here, from the wood.

Diary of a Pig: May19

In which Earnest the pig conitnues to write in his musings in his journal.

May 19, on the road to Maine, somewhere in eastern Oregon

I was able to see my children for the first time today, briefly. I am too big for them they say, emboldened, and might step on one. This is true. As I might have the intention of sniffing one as a greeting or acknowledgement of being their father, I too often am overwhelmed by my need to constantly eat and can be distracted easily by even a grain of feed nearby.

My riding quarters are separate from the others. My tusks can be problematic. I mean no harm with them, but recognize their ability to slice and dice. I am rather pleased with myself that I have this suite all on my own, although I heard talk one of the small goats might come in with me at the first layover.

The air vents allow me to feel the air move above me. The sound of the road is mesmerizing and makes me sleepy. It's like a long nap on a boat I must assume. I've never been on a boat, but we saw some on the National Geographic special last summer when we heisted that old TV out of the barn for a night, until someone ate the cord. One of The White Dogs no doubt, although I was blamed. I prefer to eat natural items.

So far, America feels the same to me as it did on the farm. But I sense change coming. All the same, I am still me, Earnest. It is good to be grounded in myself and not swathed by the dissenting voices I hear coming from the radio up front.

Diary of a Pig: Earnest's journal

April 24

There has been much discussion of late about seating arrangements for the trip East. I hope to be near Eleanor, but it is unlikely. The people know me, and I know them. We both realize my yearnings could cause problems. I will hope for some lovemaking on arrival in Maine. It has been too long, me thinks.

The pink pig from Old Barn is problematic. I hope to not be placed in the same riding compartment as her. But what can I do about it?

We have had warm weather and have had many mud baths. We have been informed the travelling mobile has no bath tanks, or mud, and the windows are high so sight seeing will be impossible. But there is some kind of mission to have a secure chair to stand on, so we can take turns seeing America. I have put in a request too, I'd like to stop at some of the national forests, since I've never been to one, now must be my time.

I have a microchip now, we all do. We were assured that it will keep us from going to jail in Maine, and it is even good for European travel. I have taken note of this, and am considering a trip to Paris, or Scotland. But first, we will leave our home here, and see America, and perhaps stop at a drive in too.

Diary of a Pig: Earnest's journal

April 10. Sunday evening.

The weather was good. The mud has crusted over allowing me too dust a bit, but also lets me maintain a light layer of mud as the sun heats me up in the afternoon. I have been quite lazy. Why not, I am not allowed in with Eleanor right now. She was not interested in me yesterday when I pressed my body up to the gate. I could knock that rat trap gate over if I wanted to, held up with hay twine, it would be less than an afternoon's work for me. But like I said, I feel lazy. It's the warm air and sun.

This morning we had breakfast and the day seemed like yesterday and the day before. I don't keep track of the name of the day like the people do. Why bother. But I knew something was different about the day when I saw the two of them together in Eleanor's paddock, with wire crates. All of us in the upper barnyard were curious and gathered to watch. The squealing began. One by one my children were caught and carried off to the driveway and the trailer. Eleanor was not upset, so I followed her cue and did not worry myself. I heard no bullets. The llama took care of circling the paddock so there was little I could do to interfere. Then I remembered she mentioned it to me, my woman. She told me the children would travel to a near by farm to live. Children go off, that is the way it is. They don't come back. I have my consistency here though-my food and ample areas to bed in. I have White Dog, and Eleanor, and my daughter Cornelia. This is enough for me. I like the people, they interact with me and care for my feet and rub my belly. But I don't need to be surrounded by piglets running amok.

So the children except one have gone off to their own destiny. I am told they will live out their lives there in the pasture, with goats, and two brothers that came from my seed. A pig either is in a pasture for life, or is eaten. I don't judge the outcome either way.

It was quieter at breakfast without the children. A nice quiet. They were good looking, like their mother.